Fate and Fortune
by clockwork starlight
Summary: Themed ficlets for the Doumeki x Watanuki ship.  Because some boys were just meant to be.  Meant to be together, meant to be target practice, meant to be uber cute and in denial... the list goes on.  However my list is only 50, so I think you're good.
1. 33 hate me

Let me wave my 'bad person' flag well above my head, just in case you missed it before.

Mokona is Mokona! And Mokona and his attachments are not mine. And I... am more than a little odd. I get by. Barely. Somehow.

I begged and pestered and made an overall nuisance of myself to get a theme list from my wonderfullest. She had to succumb eventually.

* * *

theme 33 (hate me): Concession 

_"From one perspective, an incident might not mean much. But from another perspective, that incident might be quite significant."_

_-Ichihara Yuko_

"Tomorrow, I want steamed grouper. And check your rice cooker. Some of it is too hard."

"I _told_ you!! I don't take orders! Especially… well I did see fish at a good price…" Watanuki trails off, distracted from his rival by the much less annoying thought of supermarkets and sales. He is too occupied to realize that he hasn't been asked for a dish wildly out of season, or so complicated he would be staying up late after he finishes his homework tonight. He is pulled from his thoughts by a cool hand stealing the warmth from his forehead. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Checking."

"For _what_, you brazen uncouth imbecile!"

"Your temperature."

"The implied question was _why_, moron!"

"You didn't say you hate me."

The statement brings Watanuki up short, mouth parted halfway between another vituperative scolding and a slack-jawed gape.

"Th-that doesn't mean I don't," he stammers, the loss of steamroller righteous fury leaves his declaration lacking. In decibels and overall malice.

Doumeki rumbles something and leaves him standing at the gate. Watanuki has one foot and half his shin in another dimension when it hits him with all the force of a red metal bat.

"Doumeki, you bastard!! Tomorrow is a holiday!"

* * *

I could post the theme list I suppose... might make more sense... somehow... maybe... if you're really lucky.

Well then, here it is for all and sundry who also want to play. We don't have rules, just suggestions. They are as follows:

Rule 1) Don't step on sea cucumbers.

Rule 2) You do not talk about Fight Club.

Rule 2, sub category: here's why) You can't talk about Fight Club because it's irrelevant. Completely. Unless you are massively skilled and want to grant wishes for... okay... never mind.

And that's all she wrote!

1. wish

2. tassel

3. puzzle

4. picture perfect

5. silk

6. butterfly

7. wings

8. jeweled

9. sweet

10. honey

11. pen

12. ink

13. stopper

14. wine

15. stone

16. paper

17. scissor

18. empty box

19. burn

20. blossom

21. rise

22. count

23. silence

24. mirror

25. song

26. shower of stars

27. back of the theatre

28. an overflowing cup

29. etched in ice

30. torn socks

31. spiral

32. love me

33. hate me

34. spare me

35. your indifference

36. fortune cat

37. broken clock

38. tied in a bow

39. just a bit of tape

40. it's not stalking

41. you're too obvious

42. on the table

43. under the bed

44. teaspoon

45. embossed

46. another bottle

47. I believe in

48. dragons

49. good men

50. and other fantasy creatures


	2. 23 silence

Gasp, I haven't updated a thing consecutively in months. I blame work. It's kinda hella boring. Yuko-san, I've got a wish!! I wish I owned xxxHolic... however that horrible feeling associated with selling your soul, your left arm and your right leg and all your firstborn is unpleasant, so I'll just settle for borrowing it for a while.

I haven't eaten in 12 hours... there may be a connection.

* * *

Theme 23 (silence): Sing a song of sixpence 

It's never really noisy here when Watanuki isn't starting the domino reaction of teasing. The boy is capable of being silent; he can even stay that way for long periods of time. But then someone has to upset his balance. Because a quiet Watanuki is reminiscent of a dead-or-dying Watanuki, and that's just unacceptable. So Yuko calls for more alcohol and he launches into a tirade about her liver and how if she's not careful, she's going to have to demand an entirely new one as payment for a wish, and oh she probably has. Several times. And the girls sing in echo and dance in time with the wild staccato of his punctuated gestures. Mokona chimes in with a request for more snacks with the alcohol, and there's nothing he can do in the face of the majority rule. So he marches off to the kitchen, loudly, makes a terrible fuss as he prepares plates and cups, rattling doors and dishes and grumbling loudly. Yuko simply smiles, and basks in the sounds of life filling her home, and wonders how she got by before chocolate fondant, room service and a lackey that could do her work for her.

She has long since passed the stage where she shunned all human contact as being only regrets waiting to happen. Now she must enjoy each day all she can, store each memory in a locked box with no key and no latch, and hope they will be enough to keep her going when the time comes. She times her call carefully, watching out of the corner of one eye to see the inevitable dance of righteous fury and the desperate attempts not to drop the tray he has lovingly, if grudgingly, prepared for everyone.

"Doumeki-kun!" she sings into the phone. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

She pays no heed to the response, knowing Doumeki doesn't have much to say that she doesn't already know. Instead she listens to the muttered insults and complaints her employee spouts even as he sets the feast on the table with all the finesse of a practiced hostess.

"You free to help Watanuki tonight? If you're busy, I'll just send Mokona…" There is a flare of sound behind her. The poor boy knows what's good for him, that doesn't mean he wants to accept it gratefully. The stoic and the meatbun rate fairly close to each other in terms of pissing him off even as they protect him.

"You'll come? Doumeki-kun, you need a girlfriend. It's Saturday, and you want to spend the evening with Watanuki. Your fanclub would be so jealous!"

This time it's an explosion of screaming and curses, despite it Yuko can hear answers in the silence of the other line before it goes dead.

------

The memory of today will fade into the comforting vagueness of a treasured routine, but Yuko plans to make more memories with her high school students. And she intends to keep Watanuki alive to enjoy them with her. And serve the sake.

If that means she owes Doumeki for protecting him, so be it. Since he doesn't see his service as a payment, since he doesn't really see her as a wish granter, since he is working toward his heart's desire by himself, slowly, patiently, she can't grant him the instant gratification of tearing off the blinds Watanuki puts on himself. She doesn't think Doumeki would want it that way either. So she'll nudge and coax and prod at them until one of them takes that last step.

Hopefully she'll be around to watch what happens after that.


	3. 42 on the table

so I've made someone of a resurrection of myself. A little. I made wonderful friends with a corner. I'm going to return to it as soon as I finish posting this, because my sulkfest is so far from over it reminds me a little of a Chocobo race.

xxxHolic doesn't belong to me. It's better that way.

* * *

Theme 42 (on the table) : Underneath the Underneath

It lies there on the table, innocuous and urgent like poison. It's whispering things into the still air of a boy's apartment. (It's not because he's spending too much time at work, really.)  
'Open me. Tear into the paper like it's his flesh. Maul me; rip and shred everything, ignore all the tape. You know, he probably got some _girl_ at the mall to do it for him.'  
He wants to unwrap it (god knows he doesn't get nearly enough of those 'acts of giving' since his parents--). He wants to unwrap it, but he doesn't want to _open_ it.  
Last time, it was a plain white apron; a direct, if overly blunt and not at all sentimental, acknowledgment of his supreme mastery of kitchen godhood.  
Manners, common sense, parents with any kind of moral code, the unwritten laws of the universe... they all say you can't give someone the same--  
(It's from Doumeki, let's not forget, and he _really_ doesn't want to open it.)  


----------

  
He found it in his grandfather's study. It was under a favorite picture in the yellow kimono. (He vaguely recalls being pronounced a healthy young man soon after that was taken.) Grandfather hadn't needed to resort to Chinese superstitions for little Shizuka.  
But for Watanuki... (He needs all the help he can get.)  
He puts it back in its box, and wonders if he should bother wrapping it.  


----------

  
It's _watching_ him from its vantage point on the table. Silent and unmoving and obvious and _annoying_ by its mere existence. (It must have taken lessons from someone.)  
Its mentor had 'escorted' him home earlier, letting him stumble inside and begin to think that so close to the end of the day, things would remain tolerable. (Oh ye cruel gods.)  
He'd barely gotten his shoes off when the jerk tossed him the box with that insufferable air that was so obnoxious Watanuki didn't even have words for it. His awesome athletic skill had kicked in and he'd caught it before remembering it was from Doumeki, and he didn't _want_ it.  
(The arrogant prick had disappeared somewhere between the thoughts of 'Ha! Witness my superiority!' and 'Why the hell did he throw it at me?')  
He'd put it on the table and hoped somehow a hungry, vegetarian spirit would get into the apartment, and in an act of selflessness, he'd be able to feed it whatever-the-hell was in the box and maybe finally someone more than half his height would give him an actual 'thank you'. (The box didn't count. At least it couldn't ask for food.)  


----------

  
It'd be almost too easy to wager that the box was untouched, possibly on fire. But Doumeki has a little faith in him. (Just enough to guess that since it didn't try to do him bodily harm in the first ten seconds, he wouldn't get rid of it.)  
He's not naive enough to put a time limit on when it'll be open. (Speculation is much more interesting than history, though.)  


----------

  
He can't concentrate on anything but how _annoying_ it is. (He does draw a line at screaming at a wrapped box.)  
When-_IF_ he opens it, then maybe yes, he might get a little vocal with his displeasure. But for now... (It's taunting him, dammit!)  
He picks at the tape, noting despite himself that unless the salesgirl happened to be _missing_ an arm and an eye, only Doumeki could have been responsible for the mess under the smooth white face of it.  
He slides the top off, half hoping it will attack him. (It would prove to everyone what a cad he was, but Watanuki is out of luck tonight. Yet again.)  
It doesn't do anything but gleam a little in the light.  
He wracks his brain for a few minutes, but can't come up with a reason to hate it on sight. The cold perfect roundness doesn't remind him of anything, painful or bittersweet. (Well, maybe geometry, but math class is always forgettable.)  
He finds no fault in the mottled white green. No hint of Mokona's mischief, Yuuko's impossibility or the bastard's almost reptilian gaze. (He swears it's like he's just _waiting_ for an opportunity to have him halfway down his throat.)  
It's just a circle of jade on a dark cord.  
He wonders if killing the moron and incurring that unpleasant fate would be worth it. (He _really_ doesn't want to have to tell Doumeki Shizuka 'Thank you for thinking of me'.)


	4. 37 broken clock

Sound judgment? I'm sorry, what? Sounds like a horrible, debilitating disease. I sure as hell don't have it.

CLAMP is too fantastic for it to be me, so really, ownership and affiliation aren't going to be found here. Nope, nope, nope. I'm gold as good.

* * *

_when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural_

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Theme 37(broken clock) : White Rabbit

Watanuki had an excellent sense of time, thank you very much. He hadn't needed to bother replacing the watch Yuuko had tricked him out of. If he missed anything, it was the familiar weight, the muted sheen of gold, the straight sharp edges imposed on the round world of the piece. It had stopped telling time long ago; a few too many encounters with the pavement, despite the cushioning of the contents of his pockets, and he'd given up on trying to repair it. But it was something he could have, something he could keep with him. Until it was taken of course.

As an excellent cook, he had an excellent sense of time. Mostly. Something about Yuuko's place always threw it off. Maybe it was the Empress of Annoying herself, or maybe it was the fact that she lived in another freaking dimension. Whatever it was, Watanuki was always surprised to find Doumeki waiting for him as he stepped out of nothing, like somehow that day was different from any of the others.

He wasn't sure who had gotten the better end of the deal. He had a guardian, however annoying and selfish and moronic, a place that was neither lonely nor fatal, and a little bit more of his fate. She gained a slave and a clock that forever read 1:04.

---

Watanuki had a horrible sense of timing, she thought. He was forever just about to die, just about to do something irreparably stupid, just about to burn the chocolate. Someone, usually Doumeki, had to keep a watchful eye on him. But Watanuki was Watanuki, and he was content if everyone, except maybe himself, was alive, fed, and preferably not bleeding.

Doumeki was Doumeki though, and however much Watanuki's internal clock rattled and cuckooed, his was two days slow, possibly full of mustard and mere seconds from being 'too late'. She wondered, not for the first time, how hitsuzen would treat its pawn and its paradox.

Right about now, she flicked open her watch, Watanuki would be millimeters away from _Certain Death_ and… ever the knight, Doumeki, master of multi-tasking, would be stepping all over the remains while retrieving their errant princess, insulting his intelligence, still half sick with relief and half with being nearly 'too late' again. She clicked it closed, savoring the silky feel of cherished metal.

Some things needed more help staying together than being put together. But by her clock, they had plenty of time.


	5. 40 it's not stalking

Well... you know how it goes. I don't pretend to own jack, and maybe I get the next installment done.

* * *

Theme 40 (it's not stalking): Just a Matter of Perspective 

It's not stalking.  
It's damage control and heroism and being kind to defenseless creatures. And while Watanuki could drive a bat out of the air if he tried hard enough, he's still as defenseless as they come. More maybe. And it's also being kind to the bats.  
Stalking implies obsession and breaking laws and being covert and sneaky and maybe stealing his clothes.

Doumeki, clearly, is none of the above. Ask Watanuki, if you want (just bring earplugs). He'll tell you that Doumeki Shizuka is annoying, and insensitive, and a pain in the ass, and stupid, and presumptuous, and absolutely maddening and and... See?

None of the above. And if the supposed stalkee doesn't think it's stalking, then the rest of the world can just shove it. And that includes the supposed-stalkee's crazy boss lady. Actually, it focuses on the crazy boss lady, the rest of the world is peripheral.

Doumeki is not stalking him. Following at a reasonable distance, in plain view (too plain if you ask Watanuki) is not stalking. They go to school together. More than half the time, Yuuko _tells_ Watanuki to bring Doumeki places. And more than most of the time, it's _Doumeki_ who ends up getting hurt, and isn't stalking supposed to fulfill some sort of psychological satisfaction or desideratum... Hmm.

Maybe it is stalking after all.


	6. 18 empty box

I'm alive, a little. It has no romance or humor, so maybe the zombies made off with more of my brain than they should have. With a plus 3 for dead languages, I should have made myself clear on that. Oh well. Still don't own xxxHolic. My life is so tragic.

* * *

(theme 18, empty box) : Preserve

There is a pile of empty boxes in the treasure room, empty until something is desired of them, some unfulfilled potential that needs to be satisfied. When the seals break, hitsuzen plays its hand, and it becomes a dance of fate, beautiful and terrible and heartbreakingly sad. Watanuki has to clean out that room once in a blue moon, which is more often than one might think since he lives in the buttoned pocket of every world that ever was. She was watching him, licking the sweet off her fingers before reaching for another confection. He yelled and scolded while he cleaned, snarled suggestions that she get rid of all these empty boxes, especially the horrible heavy black one, only a little bigger than his fist.

"What the hell is it anyway?" he demands.

"One day," she tells him blandly, "it will be a living heart. One day. It might be a mother who wishes to save her child; it might be a lover's sacrifice to be with the one he loves, a sister's, a friend's, a child's; it might be the payment or the means for a wish. This shop is meant to be for all time, because living things always have wishes. All those wishes; sought, granted, earned; because of them a life is a heavy thing." She turns away from his stupefied gaze and reaches for the porcelain carafe. "Watanuki, more sake."

Watanuki goes to the storeroom silently, after he puts the box down almost reverently on top of another chest. He can understand giving someone something so important, so vital, but he can't imagine receiving it. He still doesn't know how to receive gifts, all he does is cook and clean and how is that payment for the sentiment behind them?

Watanuki wonders if Yuuko would let him have a wish before granting the first one. He wonders if it's possible to wish for something so vastly impossible, and how many cakes he might have to make before time runs dry. More than anything, he doesn't want that empty box to contain Doumeki Shizuka.


	7. Valentine Interlude: Gravity

Name: Iambic  
Series: xxxHolic  
Ship: Doumeki x Watanuki  
Preferred Rating:  
Theme(s): gaudy, rain, accidental(ly in love? XD)  
Genre: mellow romance

* * *

Gravity cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.

-Albert Einstein

Watanuki wears his heart on his sleeve, and Yuuko knows it means something when even she thinks it's a gaudy little piece. It wants to be some kind of precious stone, doesn't it, all cold and cut with sharp edges and lonely bright against the grey of the rest of the world. Watanuki thinks she's had too many when she tells the button on his cuff that it's failing miserably at its little charade, and she's not the only one onto it, oh no, not at all. He tries to sneak away while her cheek is pressed into the table, but Maru and Moro pop up in front of him once the door is open enough to squeeze through. He teeters, but thinks he is safe, since he managed it silently. Unfortunately, Yuuko is… Yuuko, and so the girls present to him a scroll illuminated with butterflies and roses and hearts, detailing the kinds of goodies she wants for Valentine's Day, and exactly how much alcohol will go into them, because too much gets cooked off. He shoots her a glare, and stomps away, pretending to ignore her sweet 'Bring an umbrella tomorrow'. She was probably talking to the table.

It doesn't rain when he sets out to school, but he has an umbrella anyway, because it's Yuuko, and the threat of a promise is heavy and overbearing, like the cloud Doumeki sees in the distance. He has colorful boxes waiting in his bag, wrapped in ribbons. For Kohane-chan, the little fox, for his friends, for the only family he might ever have known. There's cake and molded chocolates to follow lunch, and he will graciously allow Doumeki to partake of it because it would make Himawari happy.  
"Oi."  
_Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results_, he reminds himself, having found the quote somewhere somewhen, because it would say a great deal about his current situation, not to be the better person of the two of them. _Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting… Gah._  
"You drive me _crazy_. Is it too much to ask that you use the name my parents gave me?" he demands venomously, brandishing his umbrella. The passersby stare and duck when they can't just cross the street, and huffily Watanuki composes himself. Or tries to localize his anger, at very least.  
Doumeki rolls his eyes, and Watanuki would swear he can hear them creaking inside the thick skull that houses them.  
"Watanuki," he enunciates, drawing the syllables out, impatiently clear and precise.  
"Yes?" Watanuki deigns to answer civilly.  
"We're going to be late," Doumeki points to his watch, and then covers his ears. The contained fury is unleashed, and arms flail madly as Watanuki sputters his displeasure.  
"Whose fault do you think that would be?" Watanuki glares angrily, but it's rather difficult to be menacing and to speed down a road at the same time. He decides getting to school on time is more important than arguing with the other boy, since it very clearly was not worth it to try to convince Doumeki Shizuka of _anything_. Rather like arguing with a rock. A rock with an attitude problem.

Lessons pass in a slow blur, but finally the bell rings and the students are freed for lunch hour. Watanuki ignores the sight of girls armed with their chocolate and their confessions lining up in the hall, lying in wait. Himawari-chan has a fever of 39 degrees, and so his only ray of sunshine is denied him. He glances out the window and sees with some disappointment that it is raining. It's Valentine's Day, Himawari-chan is sick at home and he can't visit until later, and he's stuck inside school with only Doumeki to talk to. Truly, _hitsuzen_ is just another way of saying he is fate's, or just Yuuko's, plaything.   
"Oi."  
"What?" he snarls, wondering if it's possible for lightning to strike indoors.   
"Lunch," Doumeki replies simply, as if Watanuki is a bit of an idiot for even wondering. He turns and walks away, clearly expecting Watanuki to follow. The stupid jerk's legs are entirely too long, so Watanuki has to jog to be able to keep up his tirade on Doumeki's presumptuous attitude in assuming things that have no chance in hell of being true. It's bad enough most of the time people think he is yelling at air; having a _visible_ target that will not sit on him or chew or drip or maim is something he might, on a good day, confess is a nice thing.  
They sit in a stairwell, and the rain is beating against the windowpane that hasn't been opened in who knows how long. The sky is grey, the walls are grey; the only relief from midtone is the stark black of the boys' uniform. Watanuki leaves the boxes open on the landing, like so many helpless virgin sacrifices. He doesn't realize the rain makes him sleepy, and staying up to cook doesn't help, and it's only when he's chasing two Mokona with a red baseball bat, presumably because they are both reciting from the Second Edition Japanese Learning Dictionary the meanings for 'denial' and 'fate', wisps of smoke and insane laughter dancing at the edge of his awareness, does he understand he is dreaming. And when he realizes he is dreaming he wakes up, to find Doumeki staring at him from much too close, with something like concern mixed in with his usual inscrutable expression. He glances around wildly, piecing together what must have happened; his nodding off pitched him forward into Doumeki, who was unable to eat with his lifeless body in the way, which would explain why the idiot was in a state of almost-panic. Watanuki sits up quickly, furious with himself for displaying any kind of weakness. But Doumeki doesn't comment, and Watanuki must fill the silence somehow, not liking how empty and hollow it tastes.  
"Ah, sorry. It was an… accident…" Watanuki's frantic explanation peters away. Doumeki isn't eating, just staring, like he's trying to carry the one and it's being particularly obstinate about not moving.  
"Idiot," he concludes out loud and returns his attention to his lunch, standard dismissal of the standard screech of outrage.   
An accident, always an accident, little acts of fate that keep pushing them together, pieces of a puzzle that really should be together but just will not fit. So many accidents, but Doumeki feels less sorry with every one. Eventually he might admit that he has a wish hard work won't fulfill, but while Watanuki is oblivious, he still has a chance.


	8. Valentine Interlude: He That Dares Not

ahria  
Series: xxxHOLIC!!  
Ship: Doumeki/Watanuki  
Preferred Rating: any  
Theme: Roses  
Genre: Fluffy angst

But he that dares not grasp the thorn  
Should never crave the rose.

-Anne Bronte

* * *

He looks at the displays in the shops and wonders if he should do something special, really special for Valentine's Day. He doesn't want it to be unmemorable. He doesn't want to be unmemorable. There are roses and baby's breath and lilies, and it hurts him to know he can't remember which ones were his mother's favorites. He thinks about getting as many as will fill his arms, as if the sheer number of blossoms will ensure he is noticed, proof that he is here.  
He is making up bouquets of them, small white roses and blooming pink buds, and blossoms of bloody red. Yuuko's hand reaches for one, and pulls out the most perfect crimson flower of the bunch.  
"Yuuko-san, those have the sharpest thorns," he warns her, trimming another stem.  
"Or perhaps, the sharpest thorns have them." She looks at all the roses, clean and sweet without any hint of chemicals, knowing that for decoration Watanuki wouldn't go through all this trouble unless... "Are you going to cook with them?"  
He looks a little sheepish, proving she has hit the mark yet again. She wishes he were a little less easy to read, but maybe there's some kind of balance in that, given how few _real_ expressions she has. She pats him fondly on the head and sashays away, still holding that red, red rose. 

He doesn't mind too much any more that Himawari gives them both identical boxes of store-bought chocolate. She thinks she's already too attached, and he has long since stopped pressing for more than she has to give. She coos over his skills, delighted with the taste of roses in the chocolate and the flan and the tea. The only appreciation he will ever get from Doumeki is an empty plate, but he'd rather the empty plate than the empty place in his memories. Watanuki can't give thanks for what he receives, he can only give, and give, because Doumeki never says it either, and Watanuki refuses to answer a gambit that hasn't been played yet.  
Maybe it's their fate to be so entwined in each other's lives. Like rose thorns tangling two stems together, a painful existence too beautiful and anguished to undo. 


End file.
